Shannon is on the verge of 20, a college senior in Psychology, and stressed to the max.  She carries a heavy course load, works 20 hours a week in a counseling clinic, and is focusing on complicated research projects in sociology and psychology while preparing her grad school admissions packages.  So how to combat the stress?

With creativity.  That’s right–doing even more in the time-restricted schedule.

To some people, that’s odd, but not to people with creativity in their bones. It’s not uncommon for a creative person to be chastised for complaining that they’re too busy, that they have no time to get things done, but in a spare moment (or not so spare), there they are–knitting, painting, writing, beading, taking pictures, sketching….

“If you don’t have time to clean your room, how can you waste time doing something artsy?” becomes the question.  From someone who doesn’t get it, obviously.

Creative people like to stay busy, but staying busy with the analytical and logical tasks of their professions can be draining.  The stress relief isn’t from vegging in front of the TV for a spare 3 hours but from engaging the creative side of the brain.  I know several physicians who work 15 hours a day in emergency rooms, and then skimp on dinner so they’ll have enough time to indulge their musical genius in the evenings.  They don’t have to be rock stars at night–just unleash  their less analytical passions.

For Shannon, that’s either her knitting/crocheting or making jewelry.  She and I learned to bead several years ago, and now she specializes in unusual belly button rings and jewelry.  She loves the creative burst of energy from designing and making her own jewelry, and she makes a nice profit if she chooses to sell it rather than keep it for herself.

I can already see this need to balance the left and right brains in her younger sister who, after a busy day of college classes and forensics, can’t wait to spend a few hours in an uber creative photo shoot, followed by laborious CS4 editing to get the right vintage  or Hollywood look.

For me,  writing has always been a great de-stressing tool.  I used to joke about it–I’ve learned with so much workplace violence to be more careful about my offbeat sense of humor–but I would come home from a grueling 12 to 15-hour day of dealing with lieutenants, slimy defense contractors, idiot Federal employees, and Gutless Wonder bosses and…beat them up or kill them off in my fiction, which at the time was my End Times thriller, Access.  I was rather powerless at work to fight back, so I unleashed it in my suspense novels and had a blast.  I’ve taken my creativity in other directions, too–sewing, beading, photography–that I’m feeling called to re-explore.

But no matter how little time I have left in a day that’s full of high-stress analysis or possibly life-or-death situations, if I don’t make time for at least a few minutes of creative bursts, I cannot maintain balance or happiness in my life.

So go ahead:  try it.  Find something artistic to do to balance the daily logic, even if you feel you’re no good at it or can’t make any money from it.  Do it for the passion of it.

Photo credit by Express Monorail; creative commons license

I have developed a tremendous appreciation for honest men.  Not honesty wielded as a weapon or as a shield but more like a cup of clear water for a thirsty woman.

Relationships are the best place to see honesty in action—and the different interpretations of honesty and the different rationales for deception.  Abuse is never a good enough excuse to tell the truth, and saving your own ass by lying through your teeth is never the same as “for the greater good.”  There’s no middle ground, and if there’s a bad feeling surrounding the honesty or the deception—for either party—then it’s nothing but poison.

Too often, I see people—both men and women—employ a “policy of truth” to justify being downright mean or verbally abusive.   These are the “friends” who will joyously tell you that the “truth” about your hairstyle or your clothes or your home décor—the “truth” always being something that stings.  Most of the time, ironically, it’s just opinion and sometimes that truth is fiction in the guise of a supportive friend who needs to feel superior.

Listen, any friend who is happy to tell you something that cuts you to the bone—whether it’s that you have chronic bad breath or spinach in your teeth after an interview or that your partner is cheating on you—is not a good friend.  Truly compassionate friends may tell you, but they’ll have to struggle to do it.

I had a boyfriend once who wielded the “truth” like a weapon.  Ultimately, it was his way of controlling me and putting me constantly on the defensive.  Honesty became synonymous with negativity.  I came to dread his honesty as much as I’ve ever dreaded a man’s lies.

He was quick to tell me if a skirt didn’t look good on me (in his opinion), that my hair didn’t flatter in that particular color (in his opinion), or that I needed to lose weight (in his opinion).   He had gotten into trouble for lying and had decided to turn over a new leaf and tell the truth—about EVERYTHING.  If he was unhappy, and he often was, he would feel compelled to tell me  The Truth about whatever was on his mind.  I never asked how he liked my outfit, hair, or weight, but he was quick to offer because, to him, he had to spew  his brand of honesty.  There was nothing  off limits.

If I proudly showed him a cool poster I’d bought for my office, he reminded me that his best friend had a signed original of the artwork,  that I had only a cheap knock-off, and that my possessions weren’t as worthy.  If I proudly showed him my home, he quickly told me how unsophisticated he thought it was because I didn’t have a unifying theme of Early American or Mid-Century Modern throughout the entire house.   When we were close to deciding to go our separate ways,  almost the last thing he said to me was that he would never marry me because he hated my natural body scent and if he stuck around, I would have to find a way to change my body chemistry to his satisfaction.

(Thankfully, my partners since then have all loved all the things he hated that became his “truth” that he just had to tell me, and the more recent men in my life cheerfully volunteer that they like these things very much, thank you.)

By the time I said good-bye to him, I felt as though whenever he was around, I was being bludgeoned with verbal abuse that he politely excused as “I have to be honest.”  Nothing he ever spewed as truth was indeed fact, which is the irony when I think back on the demise of our relationship.

I’ve also seen men (and women) use honesty as a shield to keep from allowing anyone, including me, to see them with their emotional walls down.  I recall begging for emotional support for my creative passions only to be told that my art was terrible by people with no affinity for that kind of art or its genre.  Even if they recognized that they held no expert status, they knew their honest dislike would force an emotional distance between us.  I never came out and asked if they liked my art, even though I desperately wanted them to like it because it could have been a beautiful avenue for sharing.   No, they shut down that avenue before our relationships ever got that far.

When it comes to honesty, there’s no middle ground, regardless of the supposed good reason for it. I’ve had boyfriends tell little white lies to me because they were sweet enough that they didn’t want to do anything to hurt me, but in the long run, I no longer could tell where the little lies turned into big ones.  Yes, telling me his mom was a decade older than I am made me feel better about dating a younger man, but finding out she was oh-so-much-closer to my age was inevitable.  A host of other little deceptions, so easily told for the nicest of reasons, slipped off his lips with the same deftness as far-reaching, heavy dishonesty that impacted many lives at once.  He was trying to find middle ground where it was okay to lie, but it was never okay to lie to me.  And never necessary.

There’s only a quick hop from being a man who will lie to make someone else feel good to becoming a man who will lie to save himself and consider it doing what he has to do or that he has no choice but to create huge deceptions.  The little lies make it very easy to talk himself into major fictions.

While there’s not a middle ground for honesty, there is something better.  I believe—and have experienced it several times recently—that you can be honest without being brutal.  You can tell the truth without volunteering opinions as fact or offering up hurtful interpretations without being asked.  You can find positive and truthful things to say, even if they’re opinions—rather than searching out a negative truth.  You can gently lead a person through a horrible truth with love and kindness…and with great forethought.

The secret is compassion.  Honest compassion and compassionate honesty.    It’s refreshing and sweet, like that cup of clear water after so many previous chalices of cloudy poison.    The need to be honest isn’t in the wake of all the possible bad things that can come between two people.  It’s not even considered a need because it’s simply a way of life.  And while the bad things are expressed with compassion, the honesty is more about sharing the good things, openly.

I’m stunned that I forgot to set goals.  That’s so unlike me.  Goals are the guideposts to the future and without them, I tend to amble off the path.

One of the benefits of monthly sessions with a  life coach is that they keep me on-track in my busy life and help me to fine-tune new things I want.  It’s therapy, in a way, and it’s a nice objective sounding board for me—one that doesn’t judge  in the way a close friend or colleague with an agenda might.  My coach simply helps me to talk through worries and come up with a game plan.

In this month’s session, my coach asked about a certain project.  I had mentioned to her how well it was going, and her resulting question was, “So what goals have you set for this project?”

Huh?  The question really caught me off-guard, and it shouldn’t have.  I stuttered a bit and had to admit that I’m not sure of my goals for this project.

I had goals for it, over a year ago when I first started it.  They were very specific goals, and the project has met those expectations and more.  Way more.  But I realized when she asked the question that it’s not meeting my goals so much now.  I don’t really know anymore where this project is going.

Somewhere along the way, my original goals were met and I began looking for something more, even though I hadn’t set goals or intentions for something more.  I’ve been wondering what more might come of this project and wanting more from it, but what exactly I want now, I can’t say.

See, I met the goals for that project but since the project is on-going and pleasurably so, I never re-set those goals.   And I have no idea where the project’s going.  It’s just sorta fun and undefined right now.  What I needed it for originally is based on my emotional needs over a year ago and not on my emotional needs now.

That’s my assignment for the next few days:  figure out exactly what I want out of this project now.  I certainly honor that it met my intentions joyfully and has been a sweet addition to my life,  but what exactly are the needs I want it to fulfill now?  Once I figure that out, I can set new goals for it.  I can put my intentions out there…and I can take a path to new heights.

Reaching a goal is not always the end result.  Sometimes, for anything ongoing, you need to revisit your original intentions and see what needs to be update in the goal department.

What projects, relationships, or dreams do you have that have met your goals and need a new and improved set of goals?

It’s said that, if you have children, you get to see the world through their eyes.  But it’s not so much a different perspective as a huge opportunity to rewrite your own childhood.  Most people I know had terrible childhoods.  It’s rare to find someone who had two loving parents–whether married or not–and made it through childhood and adolescence unscathed by molesting uncles,  parental negligence, or a whole variety of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse.  The last woman I know to confess that she had a great childhood told me that she had problems finding the right relationship because no matter how good things were with a new guy, it just never measured up to what her parents had together.

While it’s not a fresh set of eyes through which to see the world, it’s definitely a fresh reminder of the world during that phase of our lives.  We remember things long forgotten and old wounds are re-opened.  In every case, it’s an opportunity.

Do we react by perpetuating the ills of our own childhood?  Or do we find a way to undo  those ills by doing the opposite with our children?

I still remember raising a hand for the first time to my 15-month-old, for something very minor, and stopping my hand in mid-air.  I turned it into a fist instead, and I swore I would never beat my children then and there and that I would change that legacy.  It wasn’t necessary to keep my girls in line through childhood or their teen years.

I’ve tried to make sure my kids always knew that they were special, worthwhile, wonderful, both in word in action.  It’s a self-correcting course, a way to reclaim some of what we parents lost as children.  It’s our own best medicine for old wounds that have never healed.

Two months ago, I participated in some “spiritual work” with some trusted spiritual leaders who always have an interesting point of view.  I very much enjoy these sessions where I am a student rather than a teacher and where I am challenged to see things in a new way.   I’m a big believer in continued learning, no matter how much of an expert you are or how much you think you know.  There’s always more.

I’ve had terrible arguments in the past with spiritual people who considered themselves experts because of how long they’d been a member of a particular church, circle, or group.  When I challenged them to learn something new–just investigate it to see how it fit with their beliefs–I was quickly slapped down.  They seemed very comfortable in the little niche they’d carved out and not at all interested in any type of spiritual “continuing education.”

It’s because I like to learn that I’ve investigated other religions, attended Voodoo ceremonies, sat through lectures on aliens and other dimensions,  watched for orbs in cemeteries, studied as much as possible for the layman about zero field theory, listened as a didgeridoo was aimed at my second chakra, talked to people who talk to the dead, and oh, so much more.  I never really reject any of it–but I assimilate it in different ways, turning it over in my head and figuring out what it means to me.

During the January session, one of the women was trying to help me work through a relationship question.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about a particular friendship.  I had not shared this with the group, but I was on one hand intrigued by the uniqueness of the person in my life and on the other, well, a little nervous because it was most definitely new territory for me.  The woman helping me talk through the situation began describing to me the relationship as she saw it:  a platypus dawn.

I had not heard even the word platypus in months or years when she said it, though in the two months since, I heard it frequently.  That’s more than just selective filtering–I really am hearing it quite often.

I don’t want to say that the platypus is my new totem animal, though to some degree, that would make sense.  A platypus totem is rather powerful and reflects the need to work with the energy of the truly unique and be able to flow and change direction as need be.  Not a bad meaning at all, especially after working with the wolf totem for so long and then the bear.  It does seem to be a good representative of this particular friendship.

What this woman described to me was a new dawn, a new era in my life.  She described the pink skies of dawn and the platypus coming up out of the water.  She told me that it was the uniqueness that was the key.

That platypus has been the problem.   I really adore men who are “different.”  They don’t have to be openly different, but in their private lives, there tends to be something unusual that no one would ever guess.    Sometimes that “difference” can be very new territory for me, such that I’m not just acknowledging the uniqueness but a part of it.  (I’m being general here, not cryptic.)

So I’ve had my doubts about my platypus relationship with its double-edged sword of uniqueness.  I think the bottom line has been how far is too far when it comes to different ways of thinking.  I’m not so used to being “out-platypus’ed” in a relationship, so this could be interesting indeed.  Especially if what I’ve seen so far is just the dawn of it.

Originally published in Third Degree Curves

Photo credit by hradcanska; creative commons license

“Oh,” he says, picking up the Tarot card. He’s incredibly gifted, yet this is a new experience for him. He’s never seen these cards before, but I think they’re pretty and I share them to get his opinion. “The Lovers are a combination of the Prince of Cups and the Queen of Wands.”

I’m astonished by his quick insight and the depth of his interpretation of the different cards. He is correct, on every level. I myself have drooled over this deck for several months and had never made the connection.

Since this insight, I have read that the Queen of Wands and the Prince of Cups are often considered a pair, with the advantage of their coupledom being that the introspective and somewhat introverted Prince is able to help his Queen work through life on her inner planes and the disadvantage being that he is sometimes obsessed by and obsessed with his feelings.

For my personal card, I’ve been attracted to the Queen of Wands, sometimes Rods or Spears, for at least 5 or 6 years. When I first became interested in Tarot, like many newbies, I wanted the High Priestess for my card, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the Queen of Wands. Even though I loved the other Queens and particular aspects of them, Wands drew me in.

Since then, I’ve repeatedly appeared in Tarot readings-for me and for others-as the Queen of Wands or Queen of Rods, depending on the deck. I’ve begun to work with the visual aspects of the card and what it represents, using them for a model for myself.

The Queen of Wands, to me, is all about creativity and ideas, but also about hard work, commitment, and integrity. She has a bazillion projects going at once, and is both practical and successful in bringing her many efforts to harvest. She is a go-getter, a woman who makes things happen, even going against the currents to make them happen. She wears bright colors and shines and sparkles, drawing others to her.

She’s a bit of the Alpha Female, I suppose….a controlling and dominant woman, protective of those she loves. And though she isn’t always seen as emotional, she most definitely is…emotional, sensitive, intuitive, empathic, compassionate, loyal, and loving. This woman has emotions, knows that she has them, and acts on them. Cross her or threaten someone she loves, and you’ll see Mama Tiger’s claws come out.

She is independent and calmly authoritative, and in spite of her dominance, lets others be who they are and have their own space while being supportive, protective, nurturing. She’s capable, generous, and a bit dramatic at times.

She is a woman of tremendous power and life force and transforms not just herself but others. She is inspirational, a catalyst, full of the fire of passion and purpose, and is an agent of change, hopefully for the better. She is full of passion and the fire of life and creativity and love.

What a great role model!

Photo Credit by pdjs-photos; creative commons license

Keeping secrets can be dangerous. It’s not that they can’t be kept, but if they’re kept at a price, then that price tends to manifest into something harmful.

Though I’m fairly open myself and have very few secrets, I still know and keep many secrets that aren’t harmful to me, but there’s a difference in the nature of those secrets. Those are the secrets told to me by someone I’ve counseled. The secrets are shared with me, but they don’t involve me directly. The same is true of secrets that friends have told me over the years. Some have been truly awful secrets that they felt they had to share with someone and I was it. I never asked to be their confessor but I treat those secrets–ones that never had anything to do with me–as their private information that stays private. I was specifically asked to keep it secret and, since I’m not culpable in these cases, I have. I’m sure that there are former friends of mine out there who worry that I’ll write about some terrible secret that happened 20 years ago that had nothing to do with me, but they need not worry: I’ve never disclosed their confessions.

In all of these cases, I did not take on the burden of the secret myself. It was confessed to me, but the burden was not shifted entirely to my shoulders. And that’s the difference between a secret I’ll keep and one I won’t.

In both my personal and professional lives, every time I’ve let someone shift a secret to me instead of bearing it themselves, I’ve gotten burned–both personally in my health and professionally in my reputation. For example, in 2003, a colleague came to me with a secret. She alleged fraud, and by telling me in the position I worked in then, I had no choice but to take responsibility for what I’d been told and follow-up on it. She shed her ownership of the burden of what she knew by telling me, and put me in a precarious situation of having to report it to my boss, even though she was the eyewitness to it. Three other people followed her lead and made the same allegations, all of them turning the secret burning in their chests over to me and to the people in my office. They all gave evidence but only if it was anonymous. The whole thing blew up in our faces before we’d gotten more than a couple of days into our investigation, with the person we were investigating calling for us to be fired for even thinking there might be fraud. The identity of one of the four–the first and most senior one–was discovered through someone else and when asked by a council to explain her allegations, she recanted, later apologizing to me because she was afraid she wouldn’t get promoted if anyone knew she was the one who’d come to my office for help, afraid that the person she’d turned in would retaliate. The other three were terrified of being found out and remained silent out of fear of retaliation and because the most senior of them had hung her head and said it was all a misunderstanding. Meanwhile, my office was left looking very foolish and vindictive because I was ethically unable to divulge any identities.

That will never happen again.

In my personal life, there have been a few occasions where I’ve carried other people’s secrets. I didn’t mean to be the sole one bearing that burden but in each case, the other person unloaded the secret entirely on me, somehow made me responsible for keeping it, lied through their teeth to save their own skin (much like my colleague who desperately wanted a promotion), and then walked away to breathe easily because they’d dodged the bullet.

And I caught it. Between my teeth.

I let that happen. I felt I was the stronger in each of those cases, that I could take it on until they could better bear their circumstances. They never reclaimed it though. They became content to let me bear it. A few have come back into my life to tell me how ashamed they are that they dumped it on me and ran away. Most avoid me now out of fear that I won’t be responsible for their secrets any longer. That’s probably a good idea.

Because in all those cases where I was keeping someone else’s secret while the person who committed whatever act pretended to know nothing–even in some cases pretending not to know me–I let myself bear the emotional and sometimes physical strain of it. I let myself stay up nights worrying, while the real owner of the secret was quite happy not to stay up worrying.

There’s a fine line between keeping mum about someone else’s secrets while that person works through his issues–and agreeing to keep someone else’s secrets so that he doesn’t have to own up to his own problems.  Sometimes the other person, the one whose secret it is, has to man-up. Other people will not grow if I take on their secrets as my own…and neither will I.

Next time you’re in a health food store, ask the clerk to tell you his or her five favorite items.  Not what sells the best or what might help you with a particular problem—though you may ask about those as well—but which items have they tried that exceeded all expectations.  I did this several months ago and found several new items that  have resolved problems I didn’t even realize had become problems.

Here are my new favs that I recommend to you, either at your favorite local health food store or discount store or ordered online.

1. Elations liquid and powder supplements for healthier joints, containing 1500mg of Glucosamine and 1200mg of Chondroitin  (product review)

Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have bought this had I seen any commercials or advertising for it.  When I mentioned my find to my favorite college student, she made a face and said, “But that’s for old people, isn’t it?”  The commercials and website certainly do seem to market it to people 10 to 20 years my senior, so I guess it’s a good thing it was recommended to me without consideration for the primary market. I wish I’d had this in my early 20’s!

I’ve had several joint injuries in my life, the first when I was 18 and fell on my right wrist, damaging it too badly to play piano at a recital later that day.  It pained me throughout my college years and was excruciating when I was 28 and trying to haul my baby around and had no choice but to rely on my right wrist.  My doctor diagnosed the pain as osteo-arthritis, thanks to tripping over a block of cement that was buried not quite below the surface of the college cafeteria’s lawn.

“But don’t worry,” Dr. Terry Payne promised, “because by the time you’re, say, 45 and it’s really bothering you, they’ll have found a cure for arthritis.”

A few years later, I took up foil fencing and managed to injure my knees enough that I eventually had to undergo physical therapy.  I’m now on an exercise regimen that keeps my legs super-strong and in good shape, but my knees do occasionally bother me, especially if I don’t stay on top of the exercise due to my work schedule.  I stay very active but that doesn’t mean I’m staying active with the correct leg exercises if something blows up at work and I have to forgo gym time. At the time of my diagnosis, my then-physician, Dr. Matthew Dorman, was open-minded enough to recommend glucosamine, based on studies he’d read.

The health food store employee told me that I should feel the effects of one package of 30-calorie bottles in a week’s time, and to my surprise, she was right.  I’ve tried glucosamine “horse pills” and chewables over the years, but felt only minor improvement after a couple of months of steady use.  Elations—perhaps because the liquid is more absorbable—was a drastic improvement that I noticed within a week.

I normally drink one of the 8-ounce bottles a day, every day.  It tastes to me like very strong Hawaiian punch, even thought the several flavors of Elations vary somewhat. It’s definitely better for me than drinking a soft drink, at least a hundred calories less, and costs about the same.

I’ve also tried the powder version where you mix a packet of Elations powder with a 20-ounce bottle of water, but to me, it tastes a little less appealing.

On a recommendation from the older man who does house repairs for me, I’ve also tried their competitor, Joint Juice, but was less impressed with the results.

2. The Fiber35 Diet Sprinkle Fiber by Renew Life  (product review)

When I was 25, one of my best friends taught me the value of fiber, particularly for weight management.  Not that I paid much attention.  Most of the stuff she recommended was hideous.  No matter how good for me something might be, if it tastes like a cereal box, I’m probably not going to eat it.

When the health food store’s employee pulled a tall, narrow canister of Sprinkle Fiber off the shelf, I turned up my nose at it.  That’s when she explained what she liked about it.  She not only got her daily quota of fiber from it, but she got it easily, with no mess and no taste.  I took her recommendation and now this canister stays on my kitchen table, right beside the salt and pepper.  It mixes with any soft food, dissolving completely without any taste or grit.

3. Organic Essential Detox by Renew Life (product review)

My health food store was obviously a fan of the Renew Life product line and initially suggested several detoxes like their Heavy Metal Cleanse.  Their employee raved about the product but since it’s only in pill form and I have trouble swallowing pills, she recommended her favorite liquid cleanse, the Organic Essential Detox.

Though many of my fitness-minded friends do cleanses, or detoxes, several times a year, I’d always rejected the idea.  Frankly, I was afraid I would have to excuse myself too frequently from too many meetings to run to the bathroom—and that’s the main reason I refused to try them.

This one is supposed to be extremely gentle, and after a lengthy discussion with the employee, I decided to give it a try.  I measured out an amount just less than a capful and made a brew of green tea at least twice a day, sometimes three times.  Initially, I thought the tea tasted god-awful but I got used to it after about a week.  I drank the tea about 30 minutes before my meals and made sure to drink plenty of water throughout the day.

Problems?  None.  None of the gastric fears.

The perks?  Well, me. I got downright perky.  In a few days’ time, I began to feel sooooo much more energetic.   This was the only dietary change I made during this time, so I can safely attribute the perks to the product.  My thinking became clearer, my body less fatiqued, and I had a surge of energy.  Instead of coming home from a grueling day of work and wanting to nap for a couple of hours, I wanted to hop on the treadmill or jump into home repair projects.  The bottle lasted approximately 2 weeks, and the difference in energy was substantial.

4. Source of Life Liquid Vitamins by Nature’s Plus.

My favorite of these is the Mixed Berry “Red” version. Vitamins have always been a problem for me because they’ve generally come in pill form, which are hard for me to swallow.  Even as a child, I would ask the doctor if I could take a shot instead of having to swallow a pill or liquid with the consistency and taste of swamp water. Most chewable vitamins lack everything I need, so when the health food store employee recommended liquid vitamins, I was intrigued.  I decided I liked the ingredients and flavor of the Red version of the product better.

I’m still not crazy about the taste. Yes, it’s a 2-tablespoon dose (roughly one shot) but to cut the taste, I generally mix it with a glass of grape or pomegranate juice.  I’m getting used to it, but initially it was not the best tasting liquid.  However, it does really work for me.  Again, maybe it’s because the liquid has a better absorption rate, but I did get a huge surge of energy soon after my first dose, as the product promises.

5. DanActive Probiotic Dairy Drink by Dannon.

If you have frequent yeast/bacterial infections, here-to-forth referred to as “girl problems,” acidophilus pills and a daily helping of yogurt are well-known prevention strategies.  My problem is, I hate most of the yogurts that come in the plastic tubs. I don’t mind the taste, but I can’t abide the gloopy texture.

DanActive is basically a yogurt drink, and I personally find it quite tasty.  The bottles are tiny—not enough for a meal but perfect for either a dessert or to take other vitamins or medicines with.  Vanilla’s my fav, followed by strawberry.  One a day for me keeps girl-problems away!

One of my co-workers swears by DanActive but for different reasons.  Her digestive system is at its best on a daily bottle of DanActive, and she claims it’s the only thing that keeps her from feeling bloated.

So there you have it.  Five new products to give a whirl!

My point is, it seems so freaking silly that a girl the age of my younger daughter would fear a birthday.  And yet, how many grown women (and occasionally men) do I know who hide their birthdays, insist they won’t have any more, as if a birthday is something to fear or dread?  They insist on ignoring their birthdays, insist on no parties or acknowledgment.  The very idea of a birthday seems to give them stomach ulcers.  Shoot, pick whatever age you want to be and call the number a number and move on, but don’t not celebrate!

Birthdays are a time of assessment and celebration.  This year, it’s my best birthday ever and it’s going to be an even better year that last year or the year before.  Sure, I’d prefer to have the body I had when I was 32–svelte and sculpted– but honestly, I wasn’t as comfortable with my body, my sexuality, or myself then.  I was also on the fast track in my Federal career, had two small children, a blossoming writing career,  a husband, and all the things that were considered the American dream–but I was also stressed to the point of frequent chest pains.  Where I am now is comfortable, happy, healthy, and more in the moment than I have ever been in my life.  I don’t necessarily have all the things that some people think are indicators of happiness but that’s what other people need to be happy, not me.  Or feel they need.  Life is good.  Really good.  Not without occasional problems, but really good still.

I’ve never been one to be so much “in the moment” as I am now, but I am at peace with the past, enjoying the present, and looking forward to the future.  With this birthday, I am completely confident in who I am and what I want.  There is no ache to this year’s birthday because of what I’ve lost or whom I haven’t brought forward into the present with me.  This year, I celebrate myself for who I am and for being happy with myself and the life I’ve built, and I appreciate myself.

So I’m not hiding from my birthday this year (I never have).  Instead, I am enjoying it–just as I intend to enjoy every day of this coming year.

Besides, I’m already immortal.

Photo credit by Vitó; creative commons license

Oh, the Vertex, what a game–he’s hiding all the cards.
The Vertex is in charge of finding treasure in the dark,
And watching over lucky clover–isn’t that bizarre?
Every little thing the Vertex does
Leaves you answered with a question mark.  (“The Reflex”—Duran Duran)

Okay, so I like to dance through my house when I’m alone and sing old 80’s tunes that I’ve rewritten to apply to astrological terms.  I can’t help it—I hear the term Vertex and immediately want to sing, partly because I was such a fan of Duran Duran in the early 80’s and partly because the meaning of the Vertex intrigues me.   I’ve found it to be very…telling.

What Is the Vertex and How to Find It

I first discovered this tidbit of astrology when I was looking at how asteroids affect an astrological chart.  My initial mistake was in thinking that the Vertex was just another asteroid to investigate, like Juno, Pallas, Ceres, Chiron, Vesta.  In fact, the Vertex isn’t an asteroid or celestial body at all.   It’s a point on the astrological chart.  To be specific, it’s the point where the ecliptic crosses the prime vertical,  but if you want to know where yours is and have no clue what an ecliptic or prime vertical is (which is most people), hop over to http://www.astro.com and calculate yours free by creating your own natal chart.  It’ll show up on the right side of your chart, somewhere in the fifth through eighth houses.  My Vertex is in my Seventh House of Partnerships, so mine is especially relationship-oriented.  A Vertex in a different house would have a different feel to it.

The Vertex is sometimes called a secondary descendant and usually influences fateful meetings, particularly significant breakups and first meetings.  Its opposite point is called the Anti-Vertex, which some believe to be even more important.  For example, it’s said that Sun conjunct Vertex in synastry (studying two charts, as in a relationship) means an instant, love-at-first-sight attraction.  In any case, the Vertex/Anti-Vertex line form a new Descendant/Ascendant axis with special meanings in relationships.

The meaning of the term is literally “a turning point.”  Think of it as a point that everything else revolves around, or simply as a sensitive spot that can be rubbed either sweetly or a little raw by contact with any planet or asteroid and take on the influence of that planet.  It’s useful for telling how we’ll react to someone and even for foretelling when we’re likely to meet a special person.

How the Vertex Is Activated

The Vertex is activated in one of two ways:  through other people (look to planets and points in synastry charts) or through timing (look to planets and points in transits, progressions, and even solar return charts).

In synastry, a planet or point’s conjunction with the Vertex shows a strong connection between two people.  This is felt most in a  tight orb (2 degrees or less).  Outer planets, such as Pluto, Uranus, and Neptune are more generational and mean that a whole group of people near that person’s age will affect the Vertex, so the inner planets are much better to judge the effects in synastry.

I’ve seen the charts of couples who  have the Vertex of one conjunct the Descendant of another, Vertex conjunct Sun,  Vertex conjunct Juno (the Marriage asteroid), and/or Vertex conjunct North Node.  These are all high compatibility signs and it’s obvious in their relationships.  In my own significant relationships, I’ve never had a Vertex conjunction, though I have recently had several online discussions with a man who has his Vertex conjunct Vertex of mine.   His Anti-Vertex conjuncts my Sun, too, a very good sign.  However, we have not yet met face-to-face, so perhaps I’ll have an update eventually with first-hand experience of these conjunctions.

While synastry charts, including the Composite and Davidson charts, can show the effects of planets and points on the Vertex, charts showing the effects of transiting planets on the individual’s Vertex should not be ignored.  The Sun, Moon, Venus, and Jupiter tend to have positive, expansive results when they are transit the Vertex.  Saturn tends to be very harsh and restrictive, with that feeling of being pinned down.  A personal example of this was when Saturn crossed my natal Vertex (a relationship broke up),  then retrograded over my Vertex (his relationship cemented with someone else), and then crossed my Vertex a third  time (an event in their relationship changed him into a bitter and angry person I no longer recognize).  Saturn conjunct Vertex was very much like being run over by a semi, then a few months later having that semi back up over me and a few months later drive forward over me the third time just in case some part of me hadn’t been crushed.  I’ll have a lot of activity there again in the late summer as most of my personal planets transit my Vertex, and it’s all good this time. (Yay! I deserve good after that Saturn-Vertex hell.)

For more of a long-term forecast, it’s interesting to look at the Vertex in a progressed chart.  When the Moon crossed my Progressed Vertex, I underwent a phenomenal emotional change.   Part of it was that I formed a solid emotional attachment to a new person in my life, but I also came to a turning point in another relationship and walked away without a backward glance.  My Vertex was definitely colored an emotional, mothering shade as the Moon’s transit lit it up.  This effect lasted for several months and was quite intense, and if  the Vertex is supposed to be related to “destined encounters” and “fateful meetings,” then that one certainly qualified.

Another way I like to use the Vertex in readings is with Solar Return charts.  A Solar Return chart predicts the major themes for the year, starting near the birthday when the Sun is again at the same degree as when the person was born. In years where I’ve had children or a significant new relationships, I’ve had Vertex in the Fifth House of my Solar Return chart.  I have one friend whose Vertex is conjunct his Sun, and he’s joyously getting to be a full-time dad for the first time.    Another friend is facing a life or death situation with his Solar Return Vertex conjunct his natal Vertex, both in the Eighth House.   The year that transiting Saturn contacted my natal Vertex three painful times showed up as a conjunction in my Solar Return—and that feeling of restriction was with me almost the entire year.  The last year—and final straw—of my marriage, my Solar Return Vertex was in my Solar Return Seventh House of Parterships and conjunct my natal Descendant.  So it’s always a good indicator to me of where there’ll be significant turning points, based on the House as well as other planets and points, particularly ones in conjunction.

So go, find out where your Vertex is in your natal chart.  Look at your upcoming transits and look at significant past transits and what you were doing in your life then.  Get a feel for how those transits feel to you, how they affect you.  Look at your Progressed charts and your Solar Return.  Then check out the position of the Vertices in your synastry chart with that someone special.  Once you understand how the Vertex works in your life, you’ll never look at your astrology chart again without considering the Vertex or, as I imagine Duran Duran might have said if they’d been singing about the Vertex instead of the Reflex, the Vertex is in charge of finding your treasure in the dark.

Originally published in Third Degree and Rising, 2007.

This is important for reasons I cannot yet fathom, except that I’m looking for what is real.

We’re so sure of what reality is. We gaze at the night sky, at what’s not visible in the glare of harsh light, and congratulate ourselves on seeing the reality that those stars are there, both night and day.

But is that reality? Some of the stars that we perceive as real burned out many generations before we were born. We may see the remaining light of long-dead stars that are no longer there. Or perhaps there are new stars there but their light has not yet reached us. And still other stars are too distant to be seen but burn the brightest.

But what is visible to us and to the rest of the world is not what’s real.

Here on this planet, we look up from its different corners at bears, hunters, dogs, and seven sisters in the sky and clearly see their fixed design as both our lovers and those who passed centuries before us have seen their fixed design in the sky. But the permanence of those designs depends on where you are in the Universe. The stars within those constellations are not clustered in animal and human shapes but rather, we have aligned them in our own points of view to make sense of them.

From Aldebaran, perhaps the Big Dipper appears as the Big Palm Tree. And from Antares, maybe those same stars line up in a different perspective as the Big Waffle Iron. Yet here on Earth, every inhabitant sees the pattern from where we stand.

Reality is not fixed. The patterns we’re accustomed to are not permanent. Some things look a particular way from where we are right now, both where we are in time and where we are in space. That doesn’t mean that it’s real.

These thoughts are important, but I don’t yet know why. They’re important in regard somehow to my ability to love again.

Once upon a time, I was determined not to let past wounds stop me from trusting again and loving again with an unguarded heart, and I put my heart on the line in multiple friendships and more and it was not reciprocated. I let myself get wounded again, and so I’m less inclined now to open my heart to the possibility of being loved as I am than I was a few years ago. My guard is up these days. I really do not like that it is, but it is, and that’s honest. That’s not saying that I’ve closed my heart, but just that I’m a bit more protective of it now.

Now I’m the one who needs the healing touch instead of soothing others’ pain while I leave my own heart wide open. Now I’m the one with the little birdcage bars around my heart.

Because I’m not sure which stars are there and which have burned out and which new ones have been born into a reality I don’t see right now. And I’m not certain yet of how to cluster those stars into a pattern I can recognize.

But I do have faith that it will happen.

Photo credit by PierrickBlons; creative commons license.

Little things can be so compelling.  Sometimes they’re red flags that end a relationship.  Other times, they’re white flags of surrender.  Most of the time, they’re signs all their own, which–put together–can tell a story that lifts or break our hearts.

I enjoy observing human dynamics, how people interact with each other, what drives a person.  I love it when I witness some small compelling thing that elicits an “Awwwwwwww” of awe from me.  I hate it when I learn something that’s a deal-breaker in a relationship, not from gossip but from comments posted by that person on a social network like Facebook, MySpace, Buzz, Wave, or Twitter.

A man can be very sweet and open-minded when he’s trying to get a date, say all the right things, do all the right things, and yet a pattern of Facebook updates spotlights a man who is extremely judgmental of appearance, skin color, and age.  An “upstanding Christian” at work can break half the Commandments in the privacy of a friends-only forum, leaving you to wonder if you ever knew this person at all.

A man I was somewhat interested in recently friended me on a social network.  My heart sank a few days later when the “real” man began to show up in his statuses.   It wasn’t his crazy photos or any self-deprecating humor, as some people do.  What saddened me was the photos he’d secretly taken of strangers and the cruel and hateful things he had to say about them.  It didn’t matter to me that those people would never know their photos had been ridiculed and passed around or that he’d done this in a private but extremely large forum.  What mattered to me was the grand lack of compassion I saw in him that I had not seen in my personal interactions with him.

I guess status updates on social networks are just another way to get a glimpse into the real person, a tool that wasn’t there a few years ago.  Yes, we’ve given away our own privacy.  Not just those of us who are writers or teachers and actively share through the written word, but everyone who shares of themselves on a social network.  Every action creates another window into who we really are.   Before, we could keep our racist, sexist, ageist, and other prejudicial thoughts quieter and less known.  Now,  the way we think and the way we treat other people are all right there, announced loudly, clearly, by our own selves.

That’s not all bad, though.  One man whose company I enjoy touched me deeply a few months ago when he posted a simple status update.  It wasn’t meant to impress me or anyone else, and many people would never have said it out loud or stated it publicly, but it was a comment from his heart that really stirred my own.  He’d had something remarkable happen, a dream come true.  It was the result of someone else’s misfortune that he had nothing to do with and he stepped up to the task readily.  He’d been downright giddy about the upcoming event for months, that he’d get a chance to help, to make a difference.  I’d thought his happiness about this dream-come-true was endearing, and he’d gone out of his way  to make things easier on the people who were on the losing end.  The day before the Big Day, he posted about how much his heart ached for the people who were hurting even though the torch being passed to him temporarily meant the world to him.  His compassion for others was so clear in his words.  He could have been dancing and singing “Nanny-nanny-boo-boo” to others, but instead, he let kindheartedness show through.

If what we say online betrays who we are, then let it betray compassion, kindness, and treating each other well.

Photo credit by satosphere; creative commons license.  Article originally published in Third Degree Tilt.

In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to my self in a dark wood where the straight way was lost.—Dante

I came across this quote today. I’d forgotten it.

Dante would have been about 35 at the time, so I guess maybe that was what he considered the middle of his life, but I think the quote applies to far more than impending middle age. We all have times when things are dark and we have no choice but to face Self and decide whether to acknowledge what we see or to run and hide.

Anyway, it reminded me very much of the difficult times that people I adore have been having, and I wanted to say that I’m with you, all of you, in heart and in Spirit.

Lady Sialia  has put together over a dozen projects related to the four elements, all with Nature-based themes.  The book is not specific to any particular religion but Nature-lovers and followers of Earth-based spirituality will appreciate the suggestions.  This little book of instructions for how to make wind chimes, kaleidoscopes, ornaments, wreaths, sand art, crystal sculptures, and more is perfect for parents and teachers of grade school children.

By the way, Sialia is the sound a bluebird makes.

*******

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$ 4.95 Special Price on this website. Download the pdf file now.

Available soon for your Kindle or iPhone.

When I was first looking for a like-minded spiritual group in Northwest Florida, I found several existing circles rather easily.  These were people who were either pagan or pagan-friendly, with anything from a nice mix of different religious beliefs to a finely honed circle with a specific focus.  I contacted each of them and, without their knowing anything at all about me, they all told me that they were currently closed to new members. I felt a little miffed and rejected at the time–weren’t they even willing to meet me and give me a chance?–but now I understand.  A few did offer an explanation  about energetic harmony but having not had my own group before then, I didn’t understand the precariousness of the balance of energy among a small spiritual group, circle, or coven.

Last year, I closed my own group, my fourth, to the public.  Why?  To maintain the “good energy” we’d achieved.  I didn’t want to close it completely and I did want to be able to grow it here and there as members deployed or moved away, so I made to closed to strangers but current members could bring a guest or two occasionally if they thought it would be a good fit.  And, of course, I could bring in other people whenever I wanted, given that it was my group and I was the High Priestess-slash-Facilitator of it.

Wow, have there been lessons!

1. If you’re starting the group, set the rules to suit you. I’d had several small circles between 2003 and 2006, but internal politics always played a role.  Some members wanted to host at their homes, and that just didn’t work.  For the circle I started in March 2008, I decided that the meetings would be at my house every single time.  No exceptions. I enjoy having friends in my home, but I also didn’t want to go back to the problems my second group had where I was often making my way home at 2 AM from a healing circle I’d been misled to think was 40 minutes away instead of 2 hours away.  I wanted the control of when the meetings would be, how often, and without having to worry about babysitters or, more importantly since I was having some problems with my night vision, I didn’t have to drive after dark.

So, in exchange for that control, I set it up so that I provide dinner–usually something simple and buffet-ish, we socialize and discuss the previous gathering’s lessons for the first hour while enjoying dinner, and then I teach an hour-long class or workshop that ends in a free-for-all of questions.  That’s the way I wanted it, and the energy in my house is usually pleasant and steady.  This is a far cry from driving an hour at night to have dinner that won’t be ready until 9PM, teach a class, and have to break every few minutes because the hostess allows her unruly kids to interrupt almost as often as she and her husband yell at each other.  Hey, I don’t think that makes me a control freak…but if I’m making the effort to start a group and teach it, then I make the rules to suit myself.  The people whose energy is congruous with mine will show up.

2.  Be aware of the strangers you allow into your house because they can be the best and worst things to happen to your circle. You never know where that energy’s been! My previous circles had been crafted from friends, best friends, and friends of friends–often with their own agenda.  Circle #2 came to a screeching halt after a married member of the group began inviting her newfound married lover to our meetings so they could meet in a safe place…not to mention sneaking off during my workshops to have loud sex in my bathroom.

When I started my current group, it was after looking around and meeting one-on-one with potential candidates for over a year.  I finally decided to just see who was out there and started the original Wiccan Concepts group in Niceville on Meetup.  I paid all the fees myself, didn’t charge admission, provided dinner and class, and still had at least 75% of every RSVP list turn into a no-show.  That’s a frequent problem on Meetup, yes, but in spite of that, I met my core group through that service.  The first three people to show up  on the first night are still tried and true members after two years, and one of the three chose to pursue Wicca as an Initiate.  Other core members joined within the year, and we had a really nice energy together with true caring among the members.  That kind of balance of energy is what you want to aim for because if the participants are in harmony, then you’re working together with that energy instead of using it to pull in different directions.

Just a side note here:  Though I didn’t originally intend it, my home is a sanctuary for members of my circle.  It’s the one place that some feel they can come to get away from stress and drudgery and luxuriate in an evening of magic and friendship.

Of course, if you’re inviting the general public into your home, you really don’t know what you’re getting.  I got wonderful and I got…problem children.  Normally someone whose energy didn’t mesh with the group would show up once, insist everything be his or her way, and then stomp off in a huff.  I didn’t cry over it.  Occasionally, someone with their own set of problems would show up and spend the evening putting me down or being disrespectful of what I was teaching–I still cannot abide people talking on their cell phones or via sign language while I’m trying to hold a class.  Some would show up and really mesh well with the group but had too many issues with parents or family not wanting them to attend and soon they faded away.

The final straw that caused me to close down my Meetup group and move it to a private, invitation-only basis was  when my daughter caught one of the first-timers going through her things in a cabinet, and later we realized that some of my daughter’s cherished possessions were gone.  Okay, big hot button:  you don’t steal from me.  The Wiccan Concepts group is still on Meetup but–little did I know when I canceled the group–MeetUp allows other people to take over a canceled group and claim it as their own if the moderator steps down.  Otherwise, it’s a good option for meeting candidates for your group whom you’d never meet.

3.  If someone doesn’t show after several invitations, drop it. I’ve had several cases where someone begged me for an invitation, then never showed–usually after I’d cooked for them and made sure enough parking was available so as not to upset my neighbors.  On one hand, I’ve not really understood.  How can you beg to be invited because you’re sure I can show you the one thing you’re looking for and then stand me up several times?  The irony is that the thing they’re looking for is almost always at my house and available to them.  Perhaps the thing I have to offer them is something they shouldn’t really have?  I don’t know, but my rule is, if you turn down my invitation three times, you don’t get invited back.  If you ask to come repeatedly and yet never show, you don’t get invited back because I don’t think you’re serious.

4. Beware of inviting people you’re romantically involved with. I’ve done this several times and have had great and terrible luck, depending on the guy.  In an earlier group, my date was welcomed with open arms and enjoyed the evening, with lots of good input; however, the other women really wanted his attention, and not spiritually.  In my current group, my sweetie quickly became part the group and was adored for himself and for his Tarot talents.  He attended multiple meetings  and was very much a part of the group harmony.  The energy was powerful and balanced.  More recently, I’ve invited three different guys I’ve been involved with.  They’ve all either turned me down instantly because they weren’t comfortable with subject matter or simply didn’t show.  The difference is that the first two men were held similar spiritual interests while the other men in my life haven’t been interested in either attending a gathering or becoming part of the group because their relationships with me lacked the spiritual element.

5.  Other than the lack of consideration, don’t worry about the no-shows. Not long before I decided to pursue formal training in Wicca, I learned a valuable lesson from Maggie Shayne, who created a special open circle with Evelyn Vaughn and me at a Romance Writer’s of America conference in Washington, D.C.   Someone on the way to the open circle, which we led out in a park-like area, had twisted her ankle and couldn’t participate.  Maggie passed on to me that sometimes people aren’t part of the ritual because of reasons we aren’t meant to know.  If they’re supposed to be there, they will be.  I’ve seen people come to rituals and celebrations with anger and jealousy that disturbed the balance of energy, so I no longer question that…though I will question why someone can’t pick up the phone and let me know not to plan for them.

6.  Just because a person is your best friend (or even your spouse) doesn’t mean she should be part of your circle. I brought my open-minded, pagan-friendly, New-Age-Christian, bestest-friend-in-the-world into the periphery of my first circle and more heavily into my second and third.  It wasn’t smooth.  We both wanted it to work but it just didn’t. She was used to being a teacher whenever she was in a crowd and those natural instincts always took over.  No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t be a student.   She struggled with being in “learn” mode vs “teach” mode, and  only occasionally was the energy nicely balanced, usually when we were working together to help someone else.

7.  Just because a person is harmonious with you doesn’t mean he’ll be harmonious with the group. I have had people I adore shock me. I have had friendly, balanced relationships with individuals who shared many of my beliefs and were open to learning and I’ve excitedly invited them to attend a couple of meetings, only to drop them from the invitations later.  I couldn’t believe how different they were in a group–patronizing, negative, disruptive.  It was as if they suddenly forgot they were guests or students in a class, or that the other attendees were  not there for a newcomer’s advice but rather, for what I had to teach them.

8. When inviting new people, try to meet them one-on-one before considering bringing them into the group. There are people I’ve lunched with and never looked back at.  There are others whom I lunch with regularly, but will never invite them to a group function or a workshop.   The energy just isn’t right for the whole group.

9.  When inviting new people to join the group, start on a trial basis. They don’t have to know it’s a trial.  After attending once or twice, you’ll have a feel for whether they contribute to the group energy or detract from it.  You don’t want to commit yourself and then have to end a friendship because the rest of the group can’t bear to have them in the same room.

10.  Consider having long distance or deployed members join the meetings by Skype or speaker phone. I’ve done this with members of different circles, and while it wasn’t the ideal of having them physically present, it does allow for some interaction we’d all be sadder without.  It’s still very possible to “attend” a class by webcam or phone, and even to allow different members of the group to pair off with the phone or webcam for a Tarot reading or detailed discussion.

For me, the hardest part of having a successful group is in maintaining the balance of energy.  I’m now enlisting my daughter to help more with hostessing and sergeant-at-arms duties, mainly because I feel I need to give some attention to newcomers while not forgetting about my tried and true core group.  Sometimes newcomers demand a lot of attention–which has more of a “take” feel that pulls on the group energy, and those people don’t tend to be a good fit for the group.  But every now and then, someone new attends who is respectful and willing to share and just fits in from Day One.  Those people don’t drain and lower the group energy:  they amplify it.  It’s a delicate balance but well worth it if you can achieve it.

What was it you just said?  “I’m getting old”?  Or maybe, “I must be getting old and decrepit”?  Rest assured, with that kind of self-talk, you’ll be feeling older than you are, faster than you can imagine.
How can I wake you up from giving yourself the polar opposite of affirmations so that you don’t fulfill your own prophecy long before your body, mind, and spirit are ready to decay and fade?  Oh, I know:

Thwap!

You’ve been slapped by the cold, wet salmon of self-fulfilling prophecy. Yes, you just attributed an inconvenience, twinge, or annoyance with becoming old and decrepit.

Am I saying that the human body doesn’t age, weaken, and wear down with time?  No, but I do believe that mindset can contribute to an early frailty and stagnation that, for some elderly folks I’ve known who have been upbeat and vibrant, didn’t happen until the very, very end of their long lives.  I’ve known too many people to go from being healthy and productive to fragile and apathetic, and the transition has been a steady stream of self-deprecating remarks on their age and the expectations they have of it.

When I was a teen, my middle-aged mom used to tell me that “Age is a state of mind.”  It is, but it’s more than that.  Age is a mindset, and if that mindset is tainted with constant, powerful phrases—incantations!—of how old and weak and damned we are becoming by the minute, then the negative mindset will shape our physical reality.

I’ve become very aware of men and women between 35 and 55 who tell themselves and others at least 5 or 6 times a day (that I know of) that “I’m getting old.”  Older, yes, but old? Many of the times, they tie the phrase to some minor health issue that isn’t necessarily a sign of aging.  For example….

-          A colleague of mine is having trouble thinking.  Every time I am in her presence, she makes a remark about getting old and that she can’t seem to focus.  I’ve known this woman for 20+ years and when she was 30,  I recall that she was under a lot of stress and complained to me frequently that she couldn’t seem to focus.  Every time in her career that the stress has been overwhelming, she’s become fragmented and unfocused because she’s been pulled in so many directions.  The difference now is that ever since she turned 50, she gives her age as the reason.  Over and  over and over.  Never mind the pressure, the stress, the fact that she needs to be cloned several times to do her job.

-          A guy friend of mine is in his early 40’s.  Every so often in his life, he does something stupid like go join a gym and kill himself working out the first day.  The next day, he can barely move because he’s so sore and stiff.  When he was in his 20’s, he complained that he’d overdone it at the gym—a valid point!–and then snoozed in his apartment for the next week while he recovered.  Now, it’s because he’s getting old, he says.  Not because he didn’t work up gradually to a tough routine.  It does take his body longer to recover, yes, but his entire focus is on his age as an excuse, not on taking care of himself properly.

-          A female friend of mine makes fun of me—as well as anyone else who has problems occasionally with their glasses prescriptions.  As the human eye ages, it loses its ability to accommodate near and far vision without help (readers, multi-focal contacts, laser eye surgery, etc).   I refuse to say, oh, I need glasses because I’m getting old.  I needed glasses when I was 13, and I’ve had a long history of all sorts of contacts and glasses and tweaked prescriptions.  I need glasses but I need them for slightly different reasons, and those reasons have changed many times over the years.  So what?  But this particular friend hates her glasses—which she’s always had, by the way—so she makes a huge point to ranting whenever anyone pulls out reading glasses or uses a  non-microscopic font.  “You must be getting old,” she says.  “Hell, I know I am!”

I’m afraid she’s going to be one of those old folks who spends all her time comparing notes and competing with other old folks to see who has the worst medical symptoms.  Sheesh!  Bring it to yourself as fast as possible, will you?  This is prime Law of Attraction stuff where a person can certainly fast-forward into that reality.   The elderly people who are the most vibrant don’t seem to be the ones talking incessantly about this little ache or that little pain—they focus on other stuff.  You look at them and see the deep wrinkles but still think of them as “young at heart.”  They are still lots of fun to be around.

If you remember the Carol Burnett skit that later became “Mama’s Family,” Vicki Lawrence played a woman decades older.  It always amused me how she could just become “Mama” so quickly, enough so that it was a little disturbing whenever she played her younger character, who was closer to her own age.  Good actors can easily morph into other realities of themselves–the characters they play–if they’re in the right mindset.  Most people don’t claim to be actors but too much time in that mindset of I’m old, I’m fat, I’m bald, I’m…whatever…when they are not physically those things yet will put them on the fastrack to making it reality.

Instead of hurting yourself with endless negative self-talk, try something new.  Wipe that cold, wet salmon off your face and the next time you have a scatterbrain moment, say, “Wow, I forgot what I was going to say.  Good thing I bounce back quickly!”  If your knee hurts, say something like, “My knee hurts.  It’s a good thing I’m healthy and my super-duper vitamins make me feel better every day!”  And hey, if you’re having a hot flash, just remember that not so long ago, most women didn’t survive to see menopause and that you are one lucky woman to be so vibrant and sexy and alive!

Photo Credit by the PhotoPhreak; creative commons license

As I write this, it is a Sunday afternoon  and I have a few friends coming over for dinner and an in-depth spiritual discussion.  Did I say a few?  I meant fifteen.  Or maybe ten because several just called and said they might not make it because of transportation problems.  Or maybe twenty because several just called to say they might bring a couple of friends. I had planned to make chicken cordon bleu but do I double the recipe?  What about glasses?   I don’t know why this particular gathering is so wavering in projected attendance but it is, and I could be a ball of nerves over everything being perfect, but I’m doing only a teensy bit of stress.

I finally understand what a cancer patient told me over a decade ago.

I met her only once, and I took an instant liking to her.  I was drawn to her in a way I can’t explain.  She seemed to radiate something I wanted, needed.  I know now that that something was serenity.

She had come to see me, actually, at a workshop or speech or some such I was giving in another town even though she lived about two miles from me.  She asked wonderfully contemplative questions during my gig, and afterward, the two of us and a few more women sat and talked for an hour or so.  That’s when I learned that this vibrant woman in her 40’s was a cancer patient in remission.  I didn’t know when I’d ever met someone who seemed so alive.  She had an amazing story to tell of how her illness had changed her life, though she really didn’t dwell on the past.  She talked mostly about a technique she’d developed that helped her to de-stress and promised to show the five of us gathered around her.  She invited us all to dinner at her house the following Sunday evening and told us to wear comfy clothes so she could teach us.

I went home excited.  Not  only was I going to learn a new stress reduction technique that might actually work, but I was going to spend two or three hours with this astonishing woman who was such an inspiration to the people she met.  My then-husband was markedly less excited.  He accepted that I might give lectures here and there but to him, this sounded more like a social occasion that wouldn’t include him.  It meant he would have to feed our children that night but I would still be home in time to tuck them in. I was going, regardless, but he’d let me know he wasn’t happy about it, and I knew I’d pay for it with a silent treatment.

About two hours before the get-together, I got a voice mail from the woman.  I don’t even remember what it was that had happened but something had popped up in our hostess’ life that made it far too stressful to have guests over.  Something had delayed her and she suggested we makes plans for another time. She said something else, too, but I was feeling sorry for myself and slightly betrayed at the time. I’d gone to a lot of trouble to make the get-together. Part of me felt that she was letting us down by choosing not to go ahead with the meeting.  I was mentally putting myself in her place and knowing that I’d be having a get-together regardless of what else had come up during the day.  And I was judging her by my own over-stressed expectations of how I would do it.

The thing she said that has stuck with me all these years is that she really made no apologies for canceling our event at the proverbial last minute.  I would have been on the phone begging forgiveness, but this serene woman was very matter-of-fact.  She said she knew we’d all understand that the little things in life weren’t worth adding unnecessary stress to our lives and that we could get together another time that wouldn’t be a burden on her.  True, but to me, I’d made a much bigger deal of our getting together and what she could teach me while, for her, it was simply having fun people over to talk and learn and eat.

That was lesson she taught me.  Not some intricate yoga-like technique but a mindset.  Don’t stress over what doesn’t matter.  She never said “Life is short” or anything self-defeating like that.  She said that life is important and deserving of being enjoyed rather than filled up with stress that didn’t need to be there.

So I’m having people over for dinner tonight and then afterward we’ll sprawl out for hours on the living room floor and discuss Life, Death, and the Universe.  I won’t stress over having enough matching glasses and fine china or whether we’ll have chicken cordon bleu.  It’ll either be mis-matched or we’ll have paper plates and plastic cups.  And instead of chicken cordon bleu, we’ll have a big chicken lasagna and sweet tea and soft drinks.  And it’ll be a relaxed, un-stressed evening full of laughter and good conversation.

Photo credit by Ko_An; creative commons license.

From the upcoming book, Searching for Serenity:  the Spiritual Way to Declutter your Life and Create Sacred Space

I’m intrigued by a Tarot card known as the “Two of Swords.”  In most decks, the card features a person holding a sword in each hand, often in a defensive position.  The visual often reflects two equal forces in a stalemate situation.  The swords are sometimes crossed, suggesting a clash of ideas, words, or motives.

The traditional meanings for the card are struggle, balance, decisions, an impasse, confusion.  Some refer to these as putting up barriers to the truth or hoping the truth will go away.

A friend of mine interprets this card in a more positive way that I find beautiful.

“Look at the woman,” she says.  “She’s holding a sword in each hand.  She’s very good at defending her position, but she’s got her hands full.  If something wonderful comes to her, she cannot accept it because her hands are full.  To open her hand to something new and wonderful, she must put down one of the swords.  She must let go of something first.  She must release before she can refocus and accept something new and better.”

During my process of decluttering and re-creating the sacred space I’d lost in my home and life, I thought a lot about that Two of Swords card.  I had been like that strong woman, defending my position at all costs, never daring to risk failure by setting down one of my swords.  My hands were full, too full.  I couldn’t get it all done.  I had too many things pulling at me, and I had that constant clash of which to do first and how could I possibly do them all and which would I let fail if I didn’t defend it.  It was a constant struggle, strain, and stress.

To move forward in my life and accept newer, happier ways of being and new “gifts” from the Universe, I had to make room in my life. I had to let go…of things that cluttered my life, whether they were physical, emotional, spiritual, or something else.  When I was able to release on one level, there was a sudden cascade of release on all levels in a matter of weeks. As I got one level to its simplest form, the others could not stay cluttered.  That powerful releasing energy took hold all at once, and I let go, finally, and began very quickly to refocus my energies and my life in a new direction that felt wonderfully free.

The new direction meant taking the newly emptied spaces in my life, not fearing the voids left by releasing, and filling them instead with love and joy, turning them into sacred spaces.

And there, in sacred space, is where serenity lives.

It’s easy to get caught up in everyone else’s world and forget to pamper yourself a little.  In fact, pampering yourself can feel downright selfish, even if you did just put in a 100-hour work week.  Yet, if you’re trying to maintain or reach a place of balance and happiness, a little self-treasuring can go a long way.

Here’s my personal list:

1.  Make time for meditation–20 minutes is plenty. I’ve worked with teachers, coaches, and advisers who’ve said things that made me feel guilty.  They’ve chastised me for not taking a hour to meditate and spend that time on myself, and I distinctly remember explaining to one spiritual leader that it took me 30 minutes to get ready for work in the morning because that’s all the time I had when a toddler wasn’t hanging onto me and every time I tried to meditate, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep.  I no longer have toddlers demanding my time so I try to catch 20 minutes’ meditation time every day, usually between work and my evening relaxation because it helps to get me focused and out of the “office” mode.  Sometimes I simply set a time for 20 minutes, close my eyes, and listen.  Who cares if my mind roams?  Rejuvenation!

2.  Flowers.  Fresh flowers.  Once a week. I prefer them from my own garden, but it that doesn’t work, a small bouquet from the grocery store is just fine or, even better, a flowering plant that can later join my garden.  I love the scent and colors and a few fresh flowers a week add a touch of spring to every day.

3.  Nightgowns and lingerie. When I was newly single, I stashed away lingerie for “eventually,” when I was in a relationship again.  No more sleeping in T-shirts!  Now I choose a different nightgown every night and feel wonderful in it whether I’m in a relationship or not.  When unattached women wear crappy clothes to bed when they’d never wear them with a mate, they’re saying they’re not worth the little pleasantries.

4.  Satin sheets. I’ve loved satin sheets since college when I splurged on a set of wine-red ones.  For a long time, I didn’t have a mate who fancied them.  Now, I have them in emerald green, ice cream pink, chocolate brown, shiny gold, and–of course–wine red.

5.  A good night’s sleep. This is the hardest for me still.  It’s said that every hour of sleep you get before midnight is worth 2 hours.  Aim for sleep times that are multiples of 1.5 hours, the typical sleep cycle for the best rest ever.

6.  A hot bath. I had to travel a lot when the kids were in pre-school, and I made the most of those hotel stays alone.  The rocket scientists who traveled with me were out on the town but not  me!  I ordered room service and ate uninterrupted, watched TV uninterrupted, and then took a long, hot bath before crawling into bed for uninterrupted sleep.  Back home, my one uninterrupted treasure was 30 minutes in the bath a few times a week–and that’s when I caught up on my reading.  I still make it a must-have several times a week.

Everyone’s list is different, and even then, it can change from time to time.  Your list might include music, incense, candles, pedicures, massages, or a glass of wine.  The point is, come up with a short list of little things that feel luxurious to you, that make you feel like you’re selfishly putting yourself first for a change–and then commit to enjoying a few on a regular basis.

If you don’t treat yourself well, why should anyone else?

Photo credit by -RobW-; creative commons license

From the upcoming book, 23 Ways I Screwed Up My Life  with the Law of Attraction—and How I Fixed It

I had a date with a  man I can’t get out of my head.  Normally, that would be a wonderful thing because—normally–there would be something pleasantly fascinating about the man.  In this case, I’ve had problems figuring out how I ever attracted him into my life in the first place.

As my readers know, when I talk about such scenarios, I use composites or describe the guy in such a way that none but my closest friends have any idea who I’m talking about.  The man in this case was someone I’d met through a website, sight unseen.  He’d posted something interesting on a forum and I responded, and in turn he asked me to dinner.  He was older than most of the men I usually date but was open-minded and willing to take a risk.  The worst that could happen?  We’d continue a great conversation started online, with a focus on our professions and what they have in common.  He swore he was more adventurous than his age might lead me to believe, and I had a great attitude as I dressed for our date.

As most guys over 40 do, this man had quite a few “requirements” for the women he dated, most of them laughable.  He had quite the fantasy woman in mind.  But the thing that struck me as really…I don’t know–I couldn’t put my finger on it…was something in his attitude that bothered me.  Though I’ve had men in the past demand to see a driver’s license to prove my identity, this one wasn’t quite so obvious.  At least, not at first.  I guess the thing that bothered me was that he was suspicious. Of who I was.  Of my motives.  Of…everything.  I barely noticed at first, because given our day jobs, we’re required to have a little bit of paranoia about meeting new people. (They might be spies, you know.)  But he also had a habit, which he later admitted, of asking misleading questions to try to catch a date in a lie.  Which explains some of the oddball stuff he asked me that didn’t make sense.

After a good 30 minutes of telling me about women who’d used fake identities to get to know him online, who had stolen pictures off Facebook to “prove” they were whom they said, who had lied about their attributes for months while dodging face-to-face meetings, I was seeing a strong pattern here.  Every woman who turned out to be “real,” didn’t measure up to his requirements.  Every one who did, turned out not to be real but a scam artist.  He even questioned how I could be authentic if I didn’t have the same fears he did, to which I answered, “I prefer to stay positive and assume that you’re as real as I am.”

After another couple of minutes of his thinly-veiled paranoia about how all women are liars, I snapped my official ID down on the table and joked about it, hoping to lighten the tension I was starting to feel.

His response?  “That just proves you do the job you say you do.  That doesn’t prove you really are who you say you are.”

Ooooooh-kaaaaaaay.  Somehow, I’d thought that by showing up for the date, I had taken a big step in proving who I was.  I didn’t realize I should’ve brought my portable polygraph with me.  Nor had I done anything to deserve the assumption of being a fraud. If anything, he seemed a little disappointed that he didn’t catch me in a pack of lies so he could tell me off, as he said he’d done to countless other women.

We had a nice date, and then it sorta fizzled out over the paranoia display.  When it fizzled, it was okay with me and I was ready to go home and relax.  Relieved to be leaving his presence, even.  Only, I couldn’t relax.  This man’s quiet paranoia (and subsequent witch-hunt) kept tugging at me for days.  He was NOT the usual kind of date for me.  The previous few men I’d dated were happy, relaxed, fun, carefree but caring.  In other words, the men I’d been attracting to me and back to me were a good reflection of how I myself felt about life in general.  So why the sudden ick?

That’s when my analytical side took over.  I don’t want to be around a date, romantic partner, or even a stranger like that, so how could he have shown up in the middle of sweet and easy-going men who are usually my company?  I went back to the moment he appeared in my life and back-tracked.

That night, I’d checked out a forum I’d been to no more than two times in the past year.  I was in a little bit of a funk when I did, but I saw his intelligent post and wanted to discuss it with him.  My spirits picked up after that and I actually ended up talking to someone far more interesting a couple of hours later who is more in line with my usual upbeat mood–and perhaps I’ll be seeing him soon.

Taking it a step backward to before I checked out the forum where I found the topic of discussion, I’d spent the previous couple of hours feeling a little not-so-happy.  I’d received an annoying email from a man who–ironically, now that I think back on it–had the same first name as my date.    That had come in the middle of feeling a little perturbed that a man I see occasionally hadn’t responded to a text  message I’d sent him, which had conjured up old fears that he was ignoring me or lying to me or….well, basic unfounded paranoia rather than the fact that he was dealing with something harsh he didn’t want to share with me because he was worried it would bring me down.  And right before that, I was laughingly telling a friend that I had an intention for the weekend of at least one date.

It’s amusing now, looking back at how I went from being joyous and feeling good and great friends to letting myself slip out of that serenity just long enough to worry about something totally unnecessary and unreasonable.  I got it back together a little later, yes, but that window of blooper-tunity was wide open just long enough for my weekend date to show up.  And as much as I hate to admit it, he was a very apt reflection of my angst for the 2 hours before he manifested on the forum I was visiting–his first ever visit.

Once you figure out how to manifest what you want, it becomes especially important to stay aligned and not let yourself slip out of those good feelings–especially over something ridiculous.  The rewards for getting to the point of fast manifestation are exquisite, but if you drop out of alignment, it can be a cold slap in the face.

Two women from the Philippines are helping me with a home project. They’re smart, they work hard, and they’re compassionate. Traits I obviously admire. And even though they’ve both been handed their share of tragedy, they still agree, “Life is good.”

One is a single mother of six who just made the newspapers for being the victim of her former employer, a man she—along with quite a few other men and women—trusted and had great compassion for because of tragedy in his own family. She has a good heart, and because of it, she borrowed against everything she owned, including her home, to help someone she considered a friend.

She’s still singed from the fire but at the same time trying not to lose her sense of trust and compassion. That’s such a part of her that it would be a shame to lose not just her life savings but also her sense of innocence.

“But I’ve got great kids,” she tells me with a smile.

“Life is good,” echoes the other woman.

She’s keeping a positive outlook, which amazes me considering what she’s been through. Her friend tells me that people in the Philippines don’t suffer from depression like Americans do. Maybe it’s the pace of life here or maybe it’s the lack of attunement to Nature, or maybe it’s just not being ourselves. She finds it curious.

Then she adds, “Life is good.”

Before I can wonder how she can say that, she tells me that her husband was murdered in the Philippines in the 90’s but she had four children to raise and she had to go on with life.

“Life is good,” she says again.

Yeah. Yeah, it is. Even when things are bad, there’s still enough good to make it all worth the effort.

Have you ever discovered that your intentions came true, just not in the way you planned?  Happens to me all the time.

A little over a year ago, I put the intention out there in a Law of Attraction exercise to take more courses, particularly enjoyable courses.  I didn’t have a set agenda of which courses, but I simply wanted to keep learning more and keep expanding my mind and knowledge.

And yet, I never did renew that Spanish language course I’d been taking at work because I didn’t have time there.  Nothing exciting showed up in the local college schedules that I hadn’t already taken.

It seems I spend so much of my time teaching, and it’s important to me to continue learning.  I don’t need yet another degree, but learning is extremely important to me.

As the Winter Solstice drew near—the time of year when I focus on my intentions for the next year—I thought about my intentions for the year that had just passed and how I hadn’t spent much time in classes at work or at home.  Very few conferences or workshops!

Fortunately, my day job requires that I take 80 hours of continuing education every two years, including lots of free online courses…but that doesn’t help with the enjoyable courses I’d wanted to take.  By boss came to me rather suddenly, reminding me that I was behind on my 80 hours and needed to submit any type of workshops or courses I’d taken recently, so I went into mad-scramble mode to keep from ending up on some big boss’ list of outcasts in the next few days.  I really had to strain my brain to come up with anything…at first.

I’d not only attended a two-hour geo-political lecture by George Friedman related to his book, The Next 100 Years: A Forecast for the 21^st Century, but I had downloaded the entire 9-hour, 41-minute audiobook and listened to it while cleaning out files at the office.    I decided to push my luck and see if I could get credit for the book, which was directly related to my work—and did!

That got me thinking.  Maybe there were other audiobooks I had listened to that would qualify.  As I began making a list of all the courses, speeches, lectures, workshops, and guides I’d listened to on my iPod while getting some exercise, gardening, or cleaning house, a pattern emerged that surprised me.

I’d been listening to plenty of enjoyable courses.  Without realizing it.

Though I prefer to download speeches and recorded-live workshops from Audible.com, I can get many of the more popular non-fiction guides through my local library and listen to them on CD.  I can also listen to a gazillion college lectures free from iUniversity through iTunes, and love listening to psychology courses my daughter recommends.

What’s on my iPod this week?  The Anglo-Saxon World by Dr. Michael D.C. Drout, part of the Modern Scholar lecture series.  I understand if the migration pattern of Beowulf’s people isn’t your cup of, um, mead, but then, there’s also an audiobook on the history of beer-making….

My third workshop for the Florida Pagan Gathering was fairly crowded. I never saw several of the attendees at anything else related to the weekend events. Maybe they were aliens or angels or something just dropping by!
In any case, that was the workshop on building worm holes, Field theory, inter-dimensional portals, etc. Fun stuff. Turns out, the people most interested in discussing the material afterward with me were ceremonial magicians and lots of folks kept asking when the book is coming out. Um, well, I must get it written….

But at one point in the workshop, I was talking about how to use the portals for healing and communication, to focus and amplify energy. The room got very quiet and the conversation very serious, with me hypothesizing that other life forms might be able to lower their energetic frequency and help us raise ours so that they could communicate with us.

At that moment, that brief lull of one-second silence after suggesting other life might want to tell us what they want from a relationship with humans, a student’s cell phone went off, its musical ringtone blaring to attention….

“I like…big butts and I cannot lie!”

In the summer of 2003, I took Shannon with me on a road trip, just the two of us. She was at an important age, going into the eighth grade, which in my own history was the threshold for beginning to understand things as an adult. Too many “grown-ups” don’t seem to remember their youth, and that’s unfortunate for both their children and themselves. Too many of my colleagues tell me they can’t/don’t/won’t talk with their kids because, well, they’re teenagers, as if being in different phases of life excuses their lack of interest in their kids’ minds and emotions. I was determined not to be the distant parent.

I had recently received my Second Degree Elevation within my church organization and was driving “up North” to attend their annual spiritual retreat. This gave me a chance to bond with my new teen and to explore the rural lowlands of North Carolina in the hopes of finding answers to a particular genealogical mystery.

Our trip lasted ten days, with the second half spent camping in the woods with Mom’s very cool friends with tattoos, pentacles, and Goth skirts, and then driving straight home for 19 hours, with a brief stop in Carrollton, Georgia, to get directions from an angel—but that’s another story. By the time we reached home, my daughter had a much better understanding of Mom and vice-versa, and I wouldn’t trade that time together for anything.

The first half of the trip was a little more awkward. We left on a Sunday afternoon, simply because we couldn’t get everything together quickly enough and my ex wasn’t terribly happy about my taking a trip without him. I’d considered inviting him, except that he had only disdain for my spirituality and also I needed to know that I could made a road trip on my own. I needed that burst of self-confidence that comes with a cross-country adventure where you know you’ll find your way if you get lost and that you can take care of yourself. We did.

The first day, I drove for nine hours or more—a grand feat for someone who feared her ancient back injury would make the road hard, but after the first day, the stresses of home and the work world lifted and so did my soreness. My daughter and I discussed every shallow subject we could think of, and we were starting to get into deeper waters.

By the time we’d crossed parts of Alabama and then every detour in the bowels of Middle Georgia, it was well into darkness and dreary weather and we were on the outskirts of Augusta, Georgia. I was exhausted and wanted the first hotel we could find. Unfortunately, we could find only a few hotels along the road. The next morning, we discovered that our road merged with a new highway lined with beautiful, clean, sparkling hotels…about a mile from where we ended up.

When my ex and the kids and I had traveled on vacations and business trips, we’d always stayed in “nice” hotels. Even though the hotel was a well-known chain where I’d had good luck before, that first night of our trip was a new experience for my daughter.

I paid the bill through a mouse-hole in a glass-and-barred window, and the disgruntled woman on the other side slid me a bent key. Our room was on the second floor, for which I was grateful, considering the shadows lurking in the parking lot. Our room had a door that closed all the way but was a little lopsided. I pushed a chair underneath the door knob and braced it with other furniture and suitcases.

The phone in the room didn’t work. Well, actually it did, but you had to wait for the other hotel guests to hang up first. The sign outside the hotel boasted microwaves and refrigerators in the suites, but the ones in our room had been torn out, with the wires still dangling. To top it off, the room was infested with roaches. I considered sleeping the car, but I was too afraid of the crazy old white dude hanging out in the parking lot.

We went to bed early and got up at the crack of dawn and left as quickly as possible, laughing about it after we reached a safe distance away. Then our conversations took a deeper tone and we really got to know each other.

We crossed South Carolina in a few hours, faster than we’d planned for, and by noon, we’d reached our ancestral lands in North Carolina. We spent most of the day comparing modern roads with maps from 1810 and digging through courthouse records. Along the way, we saw a beautiful bed-and-breakfast inn that called to us. We’d purposely not made hotel accommodations for the trip so that we could set our own schedule and stay where we wanted…and this place, we wanted—badly.

Several times during the day, we stopped by to see if we could get a room for the night, but no one answered the door. We called the number on the sign, but all we got was a message to leave our name and number. Since my cell phone had just died, we had to make our calls from a phone booth.

About an hour from dark, we tried one last time. We so wanted to spend the night there. We’d read their pamphlet’s description of the rooms for rent, we’d walked around the grounds, we’d admired the shade trees and gardens. We had our hearts set on spending the night there. But when darkness was coming and we still couldn’t get an answer, we gave up. There weren’t other lodgings in town, so we left, dejected. We would have to drive an hour out of our way to find a place to sleep.

On a road “less traveled,” a road in the middle of the proverbial nowhere, we saw a sign for an “old inn” and stopped at an unusual Tudor-style building. We found a sign on the door that said to come next door to the restaurant if we wanted a room, so we parked the car and followed a stone path through a courtyard to a second building. When we walked inside, our eyes had to adjust to the dimness of a room with a huge wooden chandelier, candles, and enough Medieval-style décor to make my heart jump!

Because we hadn’t stayed at the pretty little inn in town, we’d happened onto a Medieval-style restaurant and inn that normally catered to bus tours from the coast but opened on certain week nights for the locals. We had a wonderful time there that night and, over candlelight, we kept marveling about what an incredible find we’d stumbled upon. If we’d settled for what we thought we wanted, we never would have had our heart’s desire.

I’ve seen the lesson of that evening applied many times since, but most recently in regard to relationships with men. Sometimes you can find one in a well-known area with a well-known name and discover he’s infested inside and flanked by shadows. And sometimes, you can find one who’s attractive, interesting, and seems to be everything you could want, but you just can’t get inside.

And sometimes, the real prize is off the beaten path—unusual and different, relishing being unique, a perfect match you didn’t dream existed. And one you never would have found if you’d made your home elsewhere.

Yeah, that’s where I want to sleep.

Article originally published in Life in the Third Degree, available for download now.

Photo credit by eyesore9; creative commons license

First dates are perhaps the best example ever of energy bubbles and making those first important energetic connections with someone else.  That’s because there are few other situations where we are thrust into an environment with a new person and expected to stay and hold our own for at least 20 to 30 minutes before deciding if we want more.  Wouldn’t it be fun is we could see the energy bubble around us in living color?

I write a lot about energy, a rather nebulous term for people who’ve never been around healing circles or bonfire drumming.  As an empath, my awareness of energy has grown to the point where, even though energy is invisible, its effects are not.  I feel it much as I feel the wind.  I can’t see it but I can see it bend the trees, and I can hear it howl or sing sometimes, and I can feel it.   I think we can all feel it if we’re aware of it and use it to diagnose how well a first date or first meeting is going.

A typical first date–even if you’ve been talking to the other person online, via email, via text, and on the phone or even webcam for months–is fertile ground for studying how energetic connections form, or don’t.  Like most people, I tend to have an upsurge of energy and excitement just before my date shows up.  It’s anticipation, wonder, curiosity.  I’ve had some people walk through my front door and felt as if I’d known them all my life, and the energy between us has been gentle, passionate, flowing, caring, happy.  I’ve had low-key DVD/wine/cheese/sitting on the floor dates in my family room that were just one big colorful energetic bubble and floating blissfully skyward as he exited my home and then allowed me to sigh my way off to bed and sweet dreams.  These are the ones I’m dancing around the house over and can’t wait to talk to him the next day.  That’s the kind of date I want, every time.  Who doesn’t?

The horrible first dates aren’t as easy to feel the bubble, possibly because it bursts at first glance or so soon after that you’re not even aware of it.  It’s just a huge disappointment that hits you so early that you don’t hang around to watch that energy bubble float between you.   But who cares about those dates?

The best use of the bubble to diagnose a first date is when you’re not sure how the date is going.  Those…mediocre dates…that sort of fizzle at some point.  A great date is the kind where you lose track of time because you’re so caught up in each other’s energy and that bubble just gets bigger and brighter and before you know it, you’ve been locked in deep conversation for three hours  and spend the next five making out because you can’t bear to tear yourselves apart.  You are both in that bubble and floating away, spinning, with it.  A mediocre date is the kind where the…pacing, if we were watching a movie…begins to lag.  If the pace picks back up, the energy bubble is stable.  If not, it either fizzles or pops.

For myself, about the longest I can sustain the energy of a mediocre date is 30 minutes, though most of the time, it pops at about 20.  (Yes, I date a lot, and most of my dates are great these days…though every so often, one will surprise me.)

That’s the point where suddenly the energy falters.  It doesn’t matter how good-looking the guy is, how nice he is, how entertaining he is.  I know at that instant that the date is over, usually for both of us.  It’s rarely something we don’t both seem to know at the same instant, with the exception (for me) of the rich guy who reverted to his good ol’ boy loud-obnoxious-racist roots in a ritzy restaurant after he’d had a few drinks with dinner.  He was too inebriated to be aware of the change in energy between us.  Most of the time, however, you both can feel the drop in energy.

This happened recently on a really lovely date with a really lovely gentleman.  Sweet guy, and on the surface, we had a lot in common.  About 30 minutes into our date, though, we’d hit most of the most obvious subjects that we had in common and we started getting into more of the subject matter akin to whom we are under the surface.  That’s when little things about our differing value systems popped up and I felt the quivers in the bubble as it began to deflate.  This bubble didn’t pop, it just fizzled, rather suddenly.  It wasn’t one particular question but a short series–how was it I could be happy now when I’d been through a divorce and why wasn’t I still devastated,  what was my most bizarre date since being single and how could I ever have considered dating a potential cross-dresser?  Nothing wrong with his belief system–just much more rigid than my open-to-almost-anything way of thinking.  I saw in his eyes that he could not fathom what I consider “openness,” and I knew that I could enjoy dinner with this man, but that I’d never be able to be myself around him…and him hang around.  It was a little sad to feel that bubble pop, right on time, but rather than drag things out and try to revive the bubble (that never works, ever), I called it a night much like an ER physician calls a death.

Most of the time, the bubble doesn’t fizzle and deflate to nothingness.  It pops after one particular question, whether you acknowledge it or not.  That question varies from man to man, but at some point, a hot button comes up in conversation.  Ylike ou never know until the question is out there and maybe not until after it’s answered if that was the magic question that ended the date.  It’s anything from “What do you think of Sarah Palin?” to “Do you think Nietzsche was insane?”  to “What’s wrong with these wontons?”  The most WTF moment I’ve ever had in a date was 20 minutes into appetizers–after weeks of talking on the phone–when he asked a simple question about what I’d done the night before, I told him, and he lost it with a diatribe on how educated people like me think we’re more important than people like him.  Huh?  I’d never mentioned my literary aspirations before then…just never came up…but in explaining that I had been researching Medieval history for a new novel I was working on, something touched off his hot button and he exploded.   I never had a clue as to what exactly happened back then but I understand better now.  Even though we tried to pull the date back together–we’d met half way and had driven way too far to walk out after 20 minutes–the energy bubble had burst and it was definitely over.

Watching the energy level and letting it act as a gauge in first dates has become something of a game now, not as much fun as great dates but fascinating enough to make mediocre dates more enjoyable.  By the way, first dates never start out as mediocre.  It’s just one of the directions they can take when it fizzles or pops. If that bubble expands, you never want it to end.